So, um, I have just come from Facebook and Facebook seems to have become solely a place where some strikingly dumb surveys trick all my friends into giving up their secrets. Which is fine, but the typos made by the survey-makers are so shocking, so scarring, I just cannot bear it. Bad spelling hurts mine eyes anyway, but this is taking things too far. It was also rather alarming that one survey I did this week told me the exact degree I did at University, and could tell I was a stay-at-home mother. Oh, how that dinky little catch-all term diminishes me in one foul swoop. Those three words make me dumpy, lazy and boring. The next time anyone calls me that, I shall SET THEM STRAIGHT. Even if it is an Indian call center worker from HSBC. Beware, all you unintentionally-insulting euphemising technically incorrect survey-types! Enough.
Anyway, the stay-at-home bit doesn’t really fit. On Saturday, as I said in the last post, Mark and Noah went off to watch rugby and do a bit of work while Barnaby, Custard and I waited at home. I was lulled by the idea that they would come back earlyish and we could all go and do something weekendy, which would mean Saturday was salvagable. Well, my dear husband did not bring himself or Noah home until DINNERTIME and so we all waited and fidgeted and read about three back issues of Vogue and checked for split ends and made jelly and aimlessly looked at Mulberry bags online and sighed and scanned the front window and drank quite a bit of tea and did not exit at all, except to go and hang out in the garden and stare at Lulu Guiness who was in the garden having a tea party. And I cannot stay at home ever again all day because it made me HATE this job. I was totally bored and thought that looking after my children was truly the worst job in the world. Because, every day of my life, I go out. Whether I have one baby (oh! those carefree days!) or three and one in the, er, oven, I drag the double pushchair up the winding metal staircase and go.
Where I Go:
To Hyde Park (in it, there is the pirate park, the lido, playgrounds, squirrels, ducks to feed, ice cream vans, boats, horses and sometimes people shagging under trees)
To Waitrose (where I may spot Margaret from The Apprentice, Emily Blunt from The Devil Wears Prada, & my Big Issue seller) and where I am oft to be found sampling cheese
To nursery to drop Barnaby off
To the library
To High Street Kensington for marvellously overpriced food at Whole Foods and the Chanel counter at Boots
To Westbourne Grove to the second-hand clothes shops, SCP for some stylish trinket, or Carluccios for predictable Italian loveliness
To the Spanish cafe for chocolate and churros
To the doctor in Paddington to tell him I am pregnant. Yes, that particular trip I make quite often.
The V & A, the Science Museum, the Natural History Museum
Everything is walking distance and I do not need a car – and the buses and tubes are everywhere and mostly reliable so really, I am looked after well by my dear London. And this galivanting helps me to love my children. I think Culturally-Stimulating-Often -On-Excusion-Type-Mother-Who-Eschews-Daytime-Telly would be a much, much better moniker for The Harridan. Here is a pic of Custard eating raspberries at Portobello Road.
P.S it is so very nice when your family read your blog and say nice things. Thanks fellas. In fact, anyone who bothers to leave a comment – I LOVE YOU.